Familiar
by soul vacation
Summary: They aren't strangers in everyone else's eyes, but brother and sister have never related. Things change in a way neither expect. [GaaTema, oneshot, gift fic]


**Familiar**

The air hit her like a slap to the face, its coolness such a contrast to the near stifling warmth she stepped from that it almost hurt as it pricked along her flushed cheeks. Steam slithered and rolled around her bare ankles, caressing and leaving them damp as she shook her head. Thick locks of blonde tangled and slapped against her neck and face even as droplets of water scattered around her. It was too cold for the pair of simple cotton underwear and the tank top that she wore, and as she flicked the light off in the bathroom and began to weave her way into the kitchen, a shudder gripped her.

Because she was alone, Temari allowed herself the luxury of running her palms up and down her arms. Her brows slanted together as she examined the kitchen, its careless maintenance and the sand that dusted every surface. She reasoned with herself every day that there was no point attempting to chase the desert out; it would always find a way in, and that was something she had accepted a long time ago. It was simply a price paid for living in obscurity.

Pursing her lips, she lifted a hand and massaged the back of her neck, attempting to ease the tension that her bath hadn't accomplished as she sauntered down the hallway. It was narrow and slightly off-center, though the latter was impossible to notice unless she looked in the upper right corner of the wall and observed the way the corners slanted unnaturally. No photographs or paintings adorned the walls, and they were a bleak cream, eroded by time and neglect.

Cracks snaked their way to the floor and though many would have balked at the state of things, the small abode suited Temari. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back slightly and dragged her nails across the nape of her neck, allowing a small sigh to escape into the quiet.

Perhaps her responsibilities were not as great as Gaara's, but Temari ran herself to exhaustion each day with her various duties, and when night settled, she slept hard for the few hours she allowed herself. Somehow, even after all these years, she still felt guilty lying in her own stiff bed while her youngest brother sat awake at his desk, burning the night away with candles and heavy thoughts.

She didn't know that he was standing in front of her until their bodies touched, and despite herself, she gasped. The contact was sudden enough to have her muscles going taut, and for a few breathless moments, neither moved.

Willing her eyes to be calm, Temari opened them slowly and lowered her arm, making no other motion. Despite his change, there was a part of her that still shrunk away, would always, and she could see the knowledge of that reflected in Gaara's cool eyes. She tried to reason with herself that she didn't like being surprised, either, but she knew that there was only one person who could do so -- Gaara – and even if he hadn't startled her, she would have never welcomed any touch from him.

Her lips moved thickly as she murmured, "Sorry." and finally stepped back, feeling the space between them go suddenly cold, much colder than the rest of the house. He didn't respond, just watched her with eyes outlined as though with garish face paint, before a shadow of calm acceptance fell across his face.

Somehow unable to keep his gaze, Temari glanced above his shoulder and was perplexed to find that they stood in front of her bedroom. That was why it had been so odd to run into him; her room was at the end of the hall and always had been, while Gaara and Kankurou were closer to the kitchen and opposite one another.

The question was on her lips but she dismissed it. Had it been anyone else, she would have demanded to know why they intruded on her private space, even though she didn't keep anything of value where it could be found. To her, this small house in Suna was little more than a place to rest where she needn't pay, but at the same time, it was awkward and uncomfortable to know that someone else had been there.

Especially when that someone hadn't disturbed so much as a wrinkle in her sheets. It almost made her wonder if he had been in there before.

"Temari."

Attention snapping to his face at the sound of her name, she locked eyes with him for a few seconds, silent, until he began to move slowly. She could never put a finger, exactly, on what was so different about the way he moved, except that he never wasted even an ounce of motion. Everything was deliberate, calculated, but contained a grace that she had never seen in even a woman. That was why her eyes widened when he gently removed his arms from the sleeves of his Kazekage robe, lifted it from his shoulders, and draped it over hers.

Her first instinct was to push the fabric away, its weight one she never wanted to bear, but instead her hand closed around it, gathering the front together and holding it above her breasts.

"You are not properly clothed." His eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but in what she had come to know as the look he adorned when puzzling something out. Abruptly she realized what she had been standing in front of him wearing, and heat crawled up her neck.

Tone defensive, she shot back, "I was going to get my robe!" and then realized who she was talking to. Closing her mouth firmly, she exhaled once, and then added, "But you're right, I--"

He lifted a hand and canted his head, causing her to cease speaking immediately. This seemed to trouble him somewhat, and he resumed his former position of arms at his sides, standing before her distressingly still. "I apologize."

It was so absurd that she reacted on instinct and demanded, "For what?"

Angling his body away from her slightly, he gestured toward her bedroom by merely moving his shoulder. "I disturbed your space."

Looking past him, she saw her sparse bedroom, equipped with only enough to get by. There was an outfit on the floor, pieces of it trailing in a disorganized mess as a testament to her rush in getting out of her clothing before bathing. Her sheets were rumpled and gathered at the foot of her bed, and her blanket curled against the wall, proof that she liked to sleep with her back against something solid.

Glancing back, she muttered, "Not much to disturb, is there?" and wondered why they were still standing there, talking. It was the first conversation she could remember having with Gaara for a long time. It always seemed that they were passing one another, or too busy to talk... and neither of them were social.

Why, then, was she expecting his quiet agreement, and then ready to reply with something of her own?

"That makes no difference. It's yours and I've... invaded."

The way he said it, his method of so carefully forming the last word, penetrated that somehow, she had scratched him. It was with honest surprise on her face that she replied, "You didn't move anything. I really don't care."

He didn't reply, but she could almost feel the accusation, and her cheeks flushed as she defended herself. "I don't. It's just a room, Gaara. I've been in yours."

It was a bald lie, and he called her on it. "No. You wouldn't."

Finally bowing to irritation, she snapped, "How would you know? Do you follow me, too?"

The temperature dropped again, and this time she could feel it against her chest despite the robe and her fist. His eyes flattened, his mouth shifted into a barely noticed pout, and he mentally turned away from her. "At times."

Wondering why her heart had suddenly begun to hammer in her chest, she spluttered, "Why? Do you think I don't do my job well enough?"

"No."

Temper now clouding her judgment enough to make her truer to herself, Temari stepped forward and shouldered him irritably, attempting to make her way into her room. The robe he had so carefully placed on her, however, was only contained with one loose fist, and it clung to the fabric of his shirt, pulling back and exposing a dip of tanned flesh from her shoulder to the tips of her fingers.

Intending to just toss the rob and don her own, she began to shirk it when his hand came up, soft palm touching her arm and holding her in place. He stooped slightly and lifted the fabric, and forcing her to hold his eyes, brought it back into place. When she didn't grab it, he reached an almost tentative hand out and touched two fingers to the folds, holding it in position on her sternum.

Her chest rose suddenly, sharply, and she found that she forgot how to complete a breath. They stood like that for a few seconds, the silence between them deafening, before he turned and disappeared silently down the hall.

The robe fell open and exposed her front to the cold, but somehow, the area right above her breasts almost burned.

She stood uncertain, hands loosely balled at her sides, and then her feet began to move of their own accord. His door was open almost as if he expected her, and his silhouette flickered on the wall when pale fingers lit a candle.

A thoughtless gift from her his last birthday. He had a thousand candles. This one wasn't even scented, and yet it had drooped so low with use that it was almost a hazard to his desk.

His robe dropped to the floor when she crashed into him, lining their bodies together and sliding her calloused hands up his back. It wasn't a perfect fit by any means; he was angular, almost gaunt, and she full-figured, but somehow her lips found his chin, then mouth, and she abandoned all reason when his hands carefully took her hips.

Gasping breaths met in the shadowed room, and somehow, it was easier that way. When she didn't see his face, she could forget that the man whose hand she took, that she led to the bed, was her little brother. She could forget when she ran her palms across smooth flesh too cold that it was a sin.

Until tomorrow, when she would wake looking into eyes only shades lighter than her own, they could forget and simply be. Because she knew, come morning, this would never have happened.

They would be strangers again, and with no love lost.

-----

Written for my darling husband, aka the love of my life. (Or at least one of them.) Merry Christmas, honey.


End file.
